


Falling

by Ralph_E_Silvering



Category: DC Cinematic Universe, Justice League (2017)
Genre: Diana can't let Bruce die, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-08 06:23:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12858666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralph_E_Silvering/pseuds/Ralph_E_Silvering
Summary: It started with the simple fact that Diana couldn't let Bruce Wayne die.





	Falling

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own anything from the DCEU. I really loved the new Justice League movie, especially the relationship between Bruce and Diana; which was actually a surprise because I’ve always been a Batman/Catwoman fan myself. But I feel like there is so much potential, and so many interesting things that could be done with a Batman/Wonder Woman relationship that I couldn’t resist writing a little something for them.

Diana Prince, daughter of Hippolyta and princess of Themyscira, had been a part of the world of men for over one hundred years now. This was only a very small amount of time given how long she had been alive, but mortals were so transient – brief, brilliant sparks of light – that she often felt that she had lived more during the past one hundred, than during all of the five thousand years which came before. 

Standing in the Batcave, watching Bruce and Kal-El gingerly try and avoid getting in one another’s way, she knew that others would say she had been hiding for almost all of the past century. 

Well, by others, she specifically meant Bruce.

Bruce Wayne – Batman – was……well, he was the reason she was even here in the first place.

She remembered when Batman first appeared in Gotham, over 20 years ago now. She had watched with dispassionate interest at first, safe from her museum job in Paris, as the masked vigilante appeared to launch a one-man crusade against crime in the filth and squalor and corruption which was all that Gotham had ever seemed to be.

As the years past and little seemed to change, but still the Batman fought on, her interest had grown from aloof and uncaring to personal. He had never given up. Even after all those human years passed, still he fought. There was a ferocity to him, to his actions, which she recognized in herself from back in World War I, when she had been so young and innocent in the ways of the world. He would personally fix things. 

The Great War had caused any idealism she had had to be shattered, and she had retreated – just as he had accused her of. Oh, she had helped where she could, donned her armor when it was necessary, but she had hidden in the shadows. She wouldn’t be responsible for more death.

Batman, though he had never seemed to have any idealism at all, still fought. Dark and brutal though he was, firmly outside the law though he remained, he was good. All the way through.

And that had reminded her of…….Steve. Steve Trevor. American Captain. Spy. A man who had stood between her and the world until she found her own footing in it, and who had always believed in her. Steve had never given up fighting, not even when the rest of the world seemed against him and there appeared to be no hope at all.

It had taken her awhile to work out that Bruce Wayne and Batman were the same person. The billionaire playboy routine was a very successful smokescreen, but out of curiosity she had looked into his charitable causes, his shrewd business investments, the way he always seemed to be involved in the affairs of Gotham, and she had known who he was.

He had looked so tired the day she first set eyes on him. 

Carefully listening to Lex Luther’s speech, waiting for the perfect opportunity to slip below and steel the file she wanted off his computer, she had known that Bruce Wayne would be there. Both as Batman and as   
Bruce Wayne, he had a vested interest in Lex Luther. 

She had turned around to politely decline a glass of wine, and she could feel eyes on her. Looking up, she found him staring back at her. It was an impersonal glance, the automatic male-gaze of a player – a honed reflex on his part, she was sure, and all part of the act – but she had looked longer than she had meant to, and that had caused his dark eyes to sharpen, actually taking her in.

She couldn’t help herself. Bruce Wayne was handsome, she had known this already and a million magazine covers would have confirmed it, but that was not what had drawn her attention. His suit did little to hide his powerful frame, but that was not what had drawn her eyes either; the Batman would have had to be in peak physical condition to perform the stunts he did on a nightly basis. 

No, it was the weariness she saw in his face, in those dark eyes which intently scanned her face, in the lines that tightened the corners of his mouth, and in his entire body posture. Bruce Wayne was exhausted. His dark hair was graying at the sides, lending a distinguished cast to his visage, but also hinting that he was aging in the rapid way that humans always did. The strain he put on his body…..well it was a wonder that he was still functional at all.

She had looked, feeling something tug at her heart and sink in her stomach, at the knowledge that he was tired, aging, and still refused to give up.

It was what had caused her to allow him to see her, after she had taken his data pilfering device. He had followed her, as she had hoped, seeming more annoyed and chagrined than tired as she flashed him a look before disappearing in her car.

He had approached her at the next function she attended, obviously already knowing her name and job as he tested her. It was when he casually reached out a hand to hook it through her arm that she even thought to question her own motives. The touch had surprised her – very few men were so forward – and she had glanced down as those calloused fingers brushed over her bare skin. She suppressed the shiver that followed and deliberately turned to face him. 

His eyes had been kind. Despite all the darkness he saw every day, all the darkness he immersed himself in, his eyes had been kind.

“Oh, I don’t think you’ve ever met a woman like me,” she had told him, knowing she was smiling, flirting even. She had wanted him to be intrigued with her.

There had been a spark of amusement in those eyes, an involuntary quirk of his lips, as she told him that little boys didn’t know how to share. She could tell that he was surprised to find that he liked her. “I didn’t steal your disc, I borrowed it,” she told him. It was true; she’d only needed it to find the picture she was sure Luther had discovered somewhere. But she hadn’t been able to break the encryption and so it was useless to her. 

She hadn’t been expecting him to discover her secret so quickly. Or to send her the picture he found on Luther’s drive; the one with her and Steve and his men taken in Belgium, back in 1918. 

She hadn’t been able to leave him to die. She had tried to get on that plane back to Paris – it was not her fight, he had been doing this for over twenty years, men should make their own decisions without her – but she turned back at the last second.

She had saved his life and together, along with Superman, they had defeated Doomsday. She had stood beside him at Kal-El’s funeral and known that this time she wouldn’t be walking away. This time, he asked for her help. Something is coming, he told her, and she had believed him.

She hadn’t been able to leave him to die back in Russia either. No matter how he seemed to think himself obsolete, no matter how hard he pushed for her to take leadership of their little band of superheroes, no matter how unworthy he seemed to think he was, she refused to watch him get himself killed.

Kal-El’s eyes narrowed in dislike as Bruce unconsciously moved closer to him, checking something on the troop carrier. She felt Lois Lane step up to stand beside her. “How are they getting along?” she asked, quietly.

The red-haired reporter was unable to hide her happiness that Clark Kent had returned to her. Diana herself was still keeping a careful eye on him to make sure that he hadn’t come back…….wrong.

She shifted a bit and lowered her head to keep Bruce and Kal-El in view while still facing Lois. She shrugged. “Dancing around each other with barely pent-up aggression,” she said, tone neutral. Bruce had told her that they had gotten off to a bad start, and it had only gone downhill from there.

He hadn’t admitted out loud the soul weariness which had been eating away at him, but she could tell that he recognized it now, just as she had then. And Kal-El had pushed all of his buttons the wrong way.

“This is ridiculous,” Lois growled. Her arms were folded, foot tapping the ground, as she narrowed her eyes at the two men, who were now studiously avoiding one another’s gazes. “I have to speak with Bruce about Clark’s mother’s house later,” she admitted, before turning to look at Diana. “But before that, I wondered if you would be willing to do an interview with me.”

Diana’s face must have registered surprise, because Lois’s lips took on a satisfied, mischievous smile. “Bruce told me that you were stepping out of the shadows, and so I offered to do an editorial piece on you. What do they call you?”

“I’m not sure -” Diana began.

“Hot stuff,” Aquaman called out, from where he was lounging against one of Bruce’s many cars and eating something which smelled utterly disgusting and unhealthy. 

“You never learned any manners as a child, did you?” Alfred demanded his sharp voice disapproving as he fixed Arthur with a hard stare. The man had the good grace to look somewhat abashed.

“Well……we have Superman,” mused Barry. “What about super…….woman?”

“No,” disagreed Victor, quietly, from where he was running diagnostics on the Batmobile. “Wonder Woman.”

Diana could feel her face flame with discomfort. Bruce and Kal-El had paused in their maintenance on the troop carrier. “Because of the symbol on her forehead?” Kal-El asked Victor. At the other’s nod, Kal-El studied Diana. “I like it,” he said.

“Diana?” Bruce asked, his dark eyes studying her face. His sleeves on his fine clothes were rolled up, his hair was mussed, and there was engine grease across one cheek. He looked nothing like Steve at all, but the way he waited for her opinion, studying her face carefully for any clues, was exactly like the man she had lost.

She noticed that he was lifting his right arm gingerly, and favoring the left leg. She dropped her eyes to the floor and thought carefully about the name. “It could be worse,” she decided, reluctantly relishing his resultant snort of amusement and Victor’s whoop of triumph. 

She hadn’t wanted to feel part of a team again. She tried to ignore Lois’ knowing look and Victor’s eye roll as she quickly made her farewells. She found herself shaking Bruce’s hand last, trying to keep a bland smile on her face. “You know how to get in contact with me if anything comes up,” she informed him, refusing to make direct eye contact.

He held onto her hand just a moment too long, pull it towards him until her eyes flew up to meet his. The dark eyes that watched her carefully were entirely serious and his hand around her was gentle. “Thank you, Diana,” he said, quietly. “For everything.”

Her heart was pounding uncomfortably. She pulled back, trying to look casual. She was almost sure she succeeded. “Just make sure you get those injuries looked at,” she said, deliberately light. “We can’t have Batman limping around Gotham.”

But even though she tried to run again, she found herself going back. Lois interviewed her, she helped Bruce and Alfred set up the League quarters at the old Wayne manor, and she even started to help the police with taking statements and reassuring witnesses after she got involved in situations. 

She began to grow used to knowing that Bruce Wayne had her back, that she was a part of something greater than herself again, and that caused her to feel fear like she hadn’t for almost a century. 

She was absently contemplating this rather distressing turn of events as she fiddled with the electronic tumbler she was using on the safe she was currently attempting to break into, when she heard his voice rising belligerently in the outside hallway. Pausing, one hand on the tumbler, she looked around the room again.

She was in the summer home of one of the wealthy elite of Gotham, a woman she suspected of having ties to a rising paramilitary force located in the Catalan region of Spain. This was on top of the ties to pro-Turkish militants she suspected the woman of supporting in Armenia. Diana Prince had been invited to the woman’s annual summer Gala and so she had decided to take the time to acquaint herself with any incriminating evidence she could find.

She should have known Bruce Wayne would turn up as well.

She hadn’t informed him that she would be here, so either he was doing his own sleuthing or he was following her to provide support. Or interference. Sometimes it was hard to tell. Sighing, knowing that his raised voice was meant to be a warning, she abandoned her attempts to open the safe for the moment and removed her electronic tumbler, slipping it into her pocket.

Ms. Veronica Townsend’s lush and elaborate office was a study in chiaroscuro; flickering light from the torches outside sent gold and silver beams darting across the dark burgundies and rich golds which made up the space. Everything was expensive and rich, almost providing an oriental feel to this small area in mid-America. It was a gorgeous room, even if it wasn’t to Diana’s own, personal taste.

She carefully looked around the outside gardens, made sure no one was watching, and slipped out into the shadows, before circling around to the hallway Bruce was currently having a scene in. She felt a brief flare of amusement as she took in his disheveled appearance, the glassy eyes which spoke to copious alcohol consumption, and the arrogant tilt to his chin. He looked every inch the thwarted, spoiled Gotham prince. 

‘There you are,” she said, pitching her voice low and clear, making sure it’s rather exotic tones floated over the heads of the serving and security men who were attempting to argue with Mr. Wayne.

Four male heads swung in her direction. Bruce’s eyes barely flickered to her, but a dopey smile spread over his face. “Diana,” he slurred, taking a stumbling step in her direction, halted only by the firm arm of one of the security guards. “Waz……was lookin’ for you,” he slurred. Heavily. 

As she walked down the hallway towards him, all eyes upon her, she wondered if he really was that badly inebriated or if it was entirely an act.

She knew she looked stunning, the deep blue of her dress, the few dangling curls, that sparking sapphire earrings, all serving to keep men enthralled in a picture of cool elegance. She slid between the security guards, around the serving men, and slipped one hand through Bruce’s arm. He leaned rather heavily into her side.

“I stepped out for a bit of fresh air,” she confided, her smile calm and watched as the men tried to not watch her. “You were busy talking with that state senator. I didn’t think you would notice my absence for a few minutes.”

“Our apologies, ma’am,” one of the security men said. He had a nice face, broad and honest, with clear blue eyes and dirty blonde hair. “You’re not allowed to be in this part of the mansion.” His gaze hardened a bit as it swept over Bruce. “And neither is Mr. Wayne, even if he did donate a sizable sum to tonight’s events.” His tone made his opinion clear on rich, idle men whose only inclination was to get drunk and throw money around.

“I’m so sorry-” she began, before she was interrupted.

“We were lookin’ for a li’l alone time,” Bruce slurred, the implication heavy in his voice. His breath stank of hard liquor as it washed over Diana.

“We were most assuredly not….” She began hotly, pulling away and turning to face him.

But even as she did so, his arms drew her back in, and he all-but fell onto her, stumbling as leaned forwards. Quickly, she caught him, and he used that time to swiftly press his lips to hers. She could tell that it was meant to be a brief, hard kiss, just enough to tease her and convince the men of this story. But she gasped in surprise at the first brush of his lips – they were so much softer than she had been expecting – and her mouth parted, inviting him in.

His lips stilled for a fraction of a second, a shudder running through him, and then he was really kissing her, angling his face to get even more of her, his mouth open and hot and gentle against hers and his arms gathering her in close. Her hands rose, helplessly, to tangle in his soft hair, and then she was pushing him back, harder than she intended, into the wall, pressing her body up against his, needing to feel every inch of him – the hard, glorious planes of his stomach, the thick, quivering muscles in his thighs, the quick, gasping breaths he was taking as he tried to devour her – and she made a sound, low in her throat, all-but inaudible, which made her flush with embarrassment and try to pull back. 

His arms were tight and warm around her back, and he wouldn’t let her go far, but he allowed her to break the kiss, resting his forehead against hers. He was breathing heavily, his eyes closed, and there was a faint trembling in his arms. He still smelled heavily of alcohol, but when he opened those dark eyes to look at her, his gaze was shocked, almost-afraid, and frighteningly clear.

Hesitantly, almost as if he was conducting an experiment and almost as if he couldn’t help himself, he leaned forward smoothly and ran his lips softly over hers again. He kissed her long and slow and deep, until he felt the shudder she couldn’t suppress, and then he pulled back again. He was still studying her carefully. Diana’s heart was pounding madly in her chest and she felt suddenly light-headed. She blinked to clear her vision, but all she kept seeing was his swollen, plump lips which had just been pressed so thoroughly against hers. They were wet and slightly parted now and all she wanted to do was lean forwards and kiss him again.

He looked like he knew what was passing through her mind.

Keeping her face blank, she angled her hip and leg between his knees, spreading them before she dropped one hand down, discreetly, and palmed the rapidly hardening bulge in his expensive trousers. His head fell back against the wall and his eyes fluttered at the sensation, and she couldn’t resist leaning forward and pressing her lips to the long angle of his throat and the flickering pulse point she could see there.

A throat clearing behind them caused them both to jump and rapidly pull apart. Diana could feel her face flame a bit, before she fixed a cool, imperious gaze upon the four men still in the hallway with them. Bruce’s shoulders slumped, his eyes glazing over, and he stumbled forward into Diana again. “Les go home,” he murmured, pointedly ignoring the men.

He refused to relinquish her arm as he took her back to the new Wayne Manor in his own car. Only once they were within the walls did he let go of her. 

He didn’t look at her as he led the way towards the kitchen, pulling a bottle of brandy down and pouring them both a glass. “Alfred’s private stash,” he informed her. His fingers brushed hers as he handed the tumbler over and she ruthlessly suppressed a shiver. She had been in Bruce’s main kitchen several times before, but it never ceased to make her feel at home. It was a large, darkly-appointed room, with discreet, modern lightning and filled with dark, warm wood and rich tiles. There were plants on every window sill and even some hanging from the skylights above them. There was a lovely, worn kitchen table in a windowed-alcove where she knew that Bruce and Alfred ate most nights.

She could feel Bruce’s eyes on her. After a long moment of silence, during which she could hear the summer crickets outside, as well as a whisper of a breeze as it travelled over the lake outside, Bruce said, “It could be a one-night thing if you wanted.”

She watched the ripples in the lake and didn’t say anything. Bruce shifted on his feet and then downed the entire tumbler of brandy. He placed it back onto the tiled-counter with a faint ‘clang.’ “Or we could forget the whole thing,” he said, his voice was studiously neutral.

She moved her glance towards the tumbler in her hand, tilting it so the amber liquid inside caught the low, golden lighting of the kitchen.

“Come,” Bruce sighed. “I’ll get someone to drive you to your hotel.”

He made to move past her towards the door but lightning-fast, she reached out and grasped his arm. He stopped instantly, waiting for her. He didn’t say anything and evinced no hint of impatience. She raised her eyes to his face, noting the careful blankness of his own, the weary kindness in his eyes, the crows-lines that darted out from their dark depths. 

“I’m not…..” she trailed off, unsure how to put what she wanted into words. 

A brief flare of amusement burned in his eyes. “Not sure how to do it?” he taunted gently, boyish-glee warring with an attempt to put her at her ease.

She shoved him. Then, reconsidering, she tilted her head and met his eyes. “I’ve been in the world of men for over a century,” she confided, knowing her slightly-exotic voice was husky. His gaze darted down to her parted lips. “I’ve had men as lovers.” She leaned closer to him and breathed across his lips. “Women too.” She watched his pupils dilate. Her smile promised much.

He leaned forward a bit and she was sure he would kiss her again. Barely a hairsbreadth from her lips he stopped. “I’m feeling up for a little sparring. What about you?”

That boyish glee was back in his eyes again as he pulled back from her.

She shrugged, crossing her arms over her chest to affect nonchalance. Her heart gave a traitorous jump and she dropped her eyes to hide the joy she felt at the idea. She had always enjoyed fighting and there were so few people who could match her strength.

She reminded herself that Bruce was an ordinary man; for all that the Batman was a more-than ordinary superhero. “If you would like,” she agreed.

He handed her some baggy work-out clothes, and slipped into another pair. Without speaking, they decided to spar just as themselves – no toes, or gadgets or weapons. The first few jabs they exchanged were hesitant, unsure. Diana wasn’t even paying attention when she swung out a fist, not even trying to make contact with Bruce’s face. It was only when she found herself flat on her back, Bruce hovering over her that she finally focused on him.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, his body heavy and hard against hers. She shifted a bit, fitting him between her legs, watching as he was briefly distracted before he re-focused on her. His arms held her own in a tight lock. It would be child’s play to break free, but she was comfortable where she was.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she admitted. She had shoved him, hard, in her anger once before. And she had felt sick afterwards. She never used her full strength against mortals: that had always been her silent promise to herself.

His face was mere inches from her own, a tendril of hair falling down over his eyes. There was a spark in his dark eyes as he looked her over.

“You won’t,” he growled simply. And it was the Batman’s voice, low and gravelly.

The grin she gave him promised trouble. She could feel excitement coursing through her veins. And then she was up, shoving him off with her full strength, sending him flying across the room to land heavily on the mat. Except that he was expecting it, hitting hard to displace momentum and pushing himself up onto his feet in a split second. 

She moved fast towards him, but he was expecting her, and instead of meeting her blow he moved to the side, avoiding it and using her own momentum to throw her off balance. She turned the forward momentum into a roll and then, crouched low on the ground, she swung her leg out and back, trying to sweep him off balance. He jumped, diving forward in the same move to tackle her. She rolled, throwing him off of her again.

They stood up, breathing heavily, circling one another warily. Diana knew the fierce grin on her face was one of pure enjoyment, and loved the way his dark eyes tracked her every movement. He was calculating something.

She feinted in to the right, before moving left, going for his knee. Surprising her, he moved in towards her instead of away. His brutal, mixed martial arts style was gone as he fluidly grabbed the underhand she shot at him. He changed the angle of his own arm as she tried to use her superior strength against him, suddenly turning her shoulder over and moving to sweep her right leg out from under her. 

She threw herself up and over him, almost succeeding in taking him with her as she dove forwards, rolling, and coming up behind him. His elbow came back towards her face, she ducked, shoving him forwards, but he was already stepping in that direction and her push barely grazed him.

She had never seen him fight against anyone else like this before. “Wushu,” she said, breathing increased from the exertion, a fierce smile still hovering on her lips as she realized that this was going to be a challenge. She should have expected this. Although she hadn’t been trained in eastern martial arts, Bruce Wayne had travelled the world and she had watched him mix many styles into his own. Wushu was one of several styles used by a smaller, weaker opponent against a stronger.

That Bruce Wayne was a master at it shouldn’t have surprised her. That he would have used it against her, his strategic nature realizing that even though she was exponentially stronger than he, she could still be taken down by the right application of force in the right spot, shouldn’t have surprised her. But it did. The Batman was hard, brutal, favoring quick, ruthless takedowns. Even against Superman, Kal-El had told her that Bruce had relied on kicks and punches, tactical uses of kryptonite, and brute force.

But he was fluid, fast, unpredictable, and it was all she could do to keep up with him. The few times she landed hits and blows hard enough to seriously injure mortal men, he turned away from the strike instead of meeting her head on, and deflected it.

After ten minutes though, she found her opening, striking out at him hard, ducking, rolling, while sweeping his legs out from under him in one, quick motion. She landed on top of him, her hands holding his arms up above his head, her body flush against his. “Very good,” she said, her breath coming in pants as her hair fell forward and covered them both. His own hair was untidy, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes were bright as he remained still under her. “But not good enough,” she whispered against his lips.

Oh, how she wanted all that intensity and passion he gave to Gotham focused entirely on her. Even if just for one night.

She felt his lips curve into a smile against her own and she couldn’t resist kissing him again. He responded instantly to her, mouth opening as he exchanged slow, lazy kisses with her, his legs opening and settling on either side of her. They explored each other’s mouths, his hands running up her sides until they tangled in her hair. Her own hands found their way under his damp t-shirt, skating gently over the muscled planes of his stomach.

For long minutes there was no sound but their quick breaths and the quiet press of their lips as they learned what would make the other gasp or shudder. Diana felt Bruce begin to harden under her and she darted her tongue into his mouth, tangling her tongue with his, feeling him moan as she slipped one hand past the waistband of his hands and palmed his half-hard erection.

“Diana,” he groaned against her lips, “if you don’t…..”

She forestalled him by kissing him deeply again, before she pulled her hand back out of his pants and scrambled off him. She pulled him up effortlessly after her. “Which way to your room?” she demanded, breathlessly, kissing him again and holding him to her.

Stumbling together, pausing to kiss each other every few steps, laughing breathlessly, they made it to the east wing where the bedrooms were located. Diana gave up after that, grabbing Bruce by the arms and taking three, superhuman strides. They all-but flew into his bedroom and fell onto the bed amid a tangle of arms and legs.

His laughter at her actions, surprised and delighted, made her kiss him again, playfully nipping at his lips until he wrapped her tight in his arms and rolled them over. For a moment he looked down at her, wonder in his intense, dark eyes as he reached out a hand and ran gentle fingers down her cheek. Her eyes closed at how soft and warm that hand felt against her. She opened her eyes and watched the way the moonlight flickered in his silvering hair, before she reached up and began to pull his shirt up over his head. He aided her, exposing his beautiful, bare skin, before bending down and kissing her again. 

After that all laughter and words were gone as they lost themselves in touch and taste, and in one another.

When the first rays of dawn peaked over the horizon and softly roused Diana from sleep, she found herself wrapped in Bruce Wayne’s arms. She was slightly sticky and sore, but she felt safe and cared for. She ran a hand through his soft hair, watching him murmur something in his sleep and shift closer to her.

There was something soft and new in the pit of her stomach, something so fragile that her automatic instinct was to run away from it. She felt his arms loosen a bit and for long moments she contemplated leaving, pretending this was a one-time thing, and never looking back.

But she remembered the wonder in his eyes as he looked down at her, the exhilaration she felt as they sparred, and the pure want that flooded through her every time she looked at him. Exhaling, she closed her eyes and tried to relax back into his embrace.

She felt his slow smile against her skin. “I’m glad you’re staying,” he told her, voice raspy from sleep and morning arousal.

She kept her eyes closed and tilted her face up for a messy, perfect kiss. “I’m staying,” she agreed.

 

&…….&………&………&……..&……….&

**Author's Note:**

> Not really happy with the beginning and the end of this lol, but I’m too tired to care much at the moment. Maybe I’ll edit it a bit on the weekend. Hope you enjoyed it anyway!


End file.
